The Flip Side
by lycanus1
Summary: There's only a thin line between love and hate ... as both Sirius and Severus, to their horror, slowly come to realize. *WARNING: AU*
1. A Mutt's Musings

_**DISCLAIMER:**_ Sadly, neither Sirius or Sev are mine - I'm only borrowing them. They belong to J K Rowling and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended.

_**A/N 1:**_ This is another revised fic I deleted a while back, one I wrote whilst listening to Pink's _"Please Don't Leave Me." _If you listen to the lyrics first, this shambles of a fic _should_ hopefully, make some sort of sense !

_**A/N 2: **_Pt I, _"A Mutt's Musings" _is Sirius' pov. 

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**The Flip Side ... **

_**Pt. I: A Mutt's Musings**_

If I'm honest, I'm not sure which is worse, the boredom or the loneliness. _All_ I know is that they're both irrevocably entwined and imprisoned as I am, there's no escape from either. I dread both, as I fear I'm gradually losing my mind ...

Here I am, Sirius Black, the lone heir of the Noble House of Black, _still_ without my much longed for freedom. Incarcerated in what could be classed as the family tomb - or what's better known as my ancestral home, 12 Grimmauld Place.

Home ? Huh ! That's a laugh ... It's more like a bloody prison. A cold, dark, depressing place that crushes your spirit and rapes your soul before stealing both away, leaving nothing but an empty husk where your heart once resided. With nothing but a hippogryff and a vile house elf (that I inherited with this mausoleum) for company, it's hardly surprizing that I'm the way I am. Full of self-loathing and hating the situation I find myself in, as well as beginning to lose what tenuous grip I have on my fragile sanity ...

_**XXXXX**_

I _must _be going mad. Otherwise, how do I explain why I look forward so much to the Order meetings that are regularly held here ? Why I live for them ? At the back of my mind I know the answer's undeniable. It's because _he_ will be here ... The one man I've hated with an insatiable passion since my wild and reckless youth at Hogwarts.

Who knows, maybe things could've been so much different between us - if it hadn't been for what happened at the Whomping Willow many moons ago. We could've been friends, but my immature pride and anger destroyed all hope of that ...

_**XXXXX**_

I remember a time when his dark, obsidian eyes would gaze at me with warmth, hope and desire, but my cruel, misjudged prank at the Willow ruined everything. I suppose staring death in the face does change everything and since that fateful night under the full moon, those striking, highly intelligent eyes have continued to view me with nothing but icy contempt and fathomless mistrust.

I returned that hate tenfold, for I crave adoration. I _need_ to be loved and to feel loved. I abhor the fact that he loathes me with such intensity, although I know deep down that I only have myself to blame. The hostility between us rapidly escalated. Not a day went by that I didn't taunt, torment and hurt him. I made his life a living nightmare - little did I know that I'd be the indirect cause of the hell he now endures ...

It shames me that the way that I treated him led him to seek whatever escape or respite from pain that he did. But the guilt I feel, knowing that I'm to blame for him taking on the Dark Mark and becoming a Deatheater, gnaws incessantly at me, although I'll _never_ admit it. For I know he suffers greatly at Voldemort's hands, far more than he ever did at mine - and I wasn't lenient on him. I'd been merciless ... Relentless in my persecution of him ...

I've no idea what it is about him that draws out my vicious streak, the need to hurt and the compulsion to cause him pain ... And I don't understand why I loathe Voldemort intensely, when he harms him. _Merlin ! _It seems I'm a very possessive mutt who takes great offence when someone else dares touch my personal chew toy !

Even now - almost twenty years later - I relish our encounters. I take a perverse pride in cracking the walls of the icy fortress he's built around himself; that I'm capable of shattering his carefully crafted defences. It amuses me to see those deep, high walls crumble and turn to dust ... leaving him wary, vulnerable and unprotected. Although, I grudgingly admire the strength of his determination to ignore me. Hell ! I know he wishes more that anything that I cease to exist so that he may have some kind of peace. But I can't resist the urge, the burning need that I have to bait him relentlessly until his self-control's finally breached. Until he snaps and reaches breaking point - which to my satisfaction, he never fails to do so.

It frightens me that I'm only like this with him. I've no idea where this cruelty comes from ... How he's the only one able draw out my malicious, vindictive streak ... That my old school nemesis is the only person that can actually make me feel anything anymore ... That he's the only one who makes me feel truly alive ...

No wonder I go through firewhiskey and butterbeer like a hippogryff goes through water. That I'm rarely found fully sober. That I'm pitied by the Order members, who cloak their disappointment and disapproval under a thin veil of concern. He, meanwhile, says nothing and keeps his thoughts to himself as he tries desperately to ignore me. But damn it, I can't have him snubbing me - I won't allow it ! I _need_ and want him to acknowledge me - he _has_ to ... For the sake of my sanity, if nothing else. As long as I know he feels something for me, even if it's only pure hatred and rage, I can cope with my so-called life.

I know he walks a very fine line between life and death. He plays a dangerous game spying on Voldemort and his fellow Deatheaters on the Order's behalf. It's thanks to him alone that we've all survived up to now, yet I doubt that anyone's ever thanked him for it. That he risks his life for us all on a daily basis ...

He's treated with fear, mistrust, hatred and contempt by everyone as they conveniently choose to ignore the fact that he keeps putting his neck on the line to ensure our safety. Simply because he's a Deatheater and not worthy of trust or respect. I'm just as guilty as the others - hell, I'm probably much worse as I'm aware of what we're doing to him and I _still_ choose to remain silent, although I do grudgingly respect his strength and courage. I'll be damned if I tell him though ...

_**XXXXX**_

What I do know is - and I hate to admit it - if something happened to him, if he were killed ... aah, I would miss the arrogant, evil-minded, greasy git. He's a complete and utter bastard of the first order and given the opportunity, I know he wouldn't hesitate to kill me, especially considering how I've treated him over the years. After all, I almost got him killed, didn't I ?

We hate each other with an intense passion. When we fight, sparks fly and we forget about everyone and everything. Nothing else matters, except scoring points off each other. Seeing him break, and lose his icy composure. It gives me great pleasure to know I'm the only person who can truly piss him off and make him show his emotions. To see his pale skin delicately flushed in anger and those cold, dead, jet-black eyes come alive and burn with intense fury, transforming him from an ugly man into a strikingly attractive one ...

I'm aware that these are probably the ramblings of a drunken madman, but they're also the ravings of an honest one. I will miss him, because I need him. I depend on his sarcastic, snide remarks and his defensive taunts to keep me sane and alive. I _can't _lose him ... When it comes to it, he matters to me. I care what happens to him. I may not show it, but I do genuinely care about him ... They say hate is only the flip side to lov-

_Oh, fuck , no! I've really screwed up this time, haven't I ? This must be what hell's like ... Shit ! I've only gone and fallen for bloody Snape ..._

**T.B.C.**


	2. A Brooding Bat

**Disclaimer:** All you recognize belong to J K Rowling and Warner Bros. The rest ? Comes strictly from my warped imagination ... No copyright infringement is intended.

_**A/N 1:**_ This was inspired by Kelly Clarkson's_ "Addicted." _Again, if you listen to the lyrics first, this madness _should_ hopefully, make some sort of sense !

_**A/N 2: **_Pt II, _"A Brooding Bat" _is Severus' pov. 

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**The Flip Side ... **

_**Pt II: A Brooding Bat**_

_Merlin !_ For the life of me, I don't understand why I keep doing this to myself ... Why I persist in putting myself through this agonizing hell. This bloody torture ... You'd have thought I'd have learnt my lesson nearly twenty years ago, but oh, no ... That's me, stubborn as hell and never knowing when to give up and admit defeat. Time and time again, over and over, I keep going back for more. Like a glutton for punishment ... I've no excuse for it and I can no longer blame the naivety and innocence of youth for this reckless folly. I loathe myself for being so weak. I hate having a chink in my armour that's the size of a rampaging hippogryff ... That _he_ is my Achilles heel and will most likely be my downfall ...

_**XXXXX**_

He's been my own personal nemesis since the day I first set foot across Hogwarts' threshold as a small, slight child. For five years I loathed him with an intense passion. He made the piss-poor excuse of a life I had pure hell and took immense pleasure in doing so. There were times I feared him greatly, although I made damn sure that I never showed him. I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I'd been afraid of him - he'd have been absolutely intolerable if he'd known ...

Then, suddenly, at the beginning of my sixth year at Hogwarts, my obsessive hatred changed into something completely different ... Whether it was the influence of youthful, raging hormones or not, I don't know, but I became increasingly attracted to him. He'd always been good-looking, but now as a seventeen year old, he was strikingly handsome with his piercing grey eyes, long, dark hair and tall, lean, muscular physique. And despite the continuous, malicious torment he continued to bestow upon me, I found myself - to my complete horror - falling deeply in love for the first time in my life. With him ... If there was one thing I learnt from my new-found feelings, it proved what I'd originally believed to be love for Lily Evans was pure infatuation and nothing more.

He took permanent residence in my mind; he was always in my thoughts and I dreamt about him every night and usually woke up the following morning ashamed, frustrated and painfully hard. Unable to stop myself, I'd seek him out and would even start arguments with him just to gain his attention. It was perverse of me, I know, yet I couldn't help it. Even being continuously hexed, tormented and bullied was far better than being ignored by him. I yearned for him to notice me. Craved his attention, in fact ...

I loved him - and hated myself for it. Truly hated myself ...

I soon realized that night at the Whomping Willow, that I wasn't the only one who hated me - that's when I discovered how greatly _he_ despised me. Everything changed then. I changed. Everything I felt, just vanished - or so I thought ... The pain he'd made me suffer, whether it was physical, mental or emotional was too much and it almost broke me. I vowed then, that I'd never let myself to care for or love anyone again ... I couldn't. I daren't ... I wouldn't. I'd _never_ risk breaking my spirit or my fragile heart ever again. It'd destroy what little sanity I possessed and surely kill me in the process.

So, I hardened my heart, enclosed both it and myself within an icy fortress, away from pain and all harm. Yet despite my resolve, I was confused and so lost that I ended up making the biggest mistake of my life - one which I'm still paying for to this day. Dearly ...

I took the Dark Mark. Became one of Voldemort's followers. A Deatheater. Anything to try and forget him. But I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried. No matter how desperately I wanted to. The image of him permanently etched in my mind wouldn't allow me to. No matter how badly I wanted to hate him - I just couldn't.

Like I said, _he's_ my weakness and I'm all too aware of it. I just don't know if I'll ever be able to give him up ... I tell myself that I have to, but I truly doubt I'll find the strength to do so. And I hate myself for that too ...

_**XXXXX**_

Now years later, he's back in my life after spending time in Azkaban. Holed up as a prisoner for a crime he'd never committed. For twelve long, lonely, miserable years. An innocent wrongly imprisoned for something he didn't do. You'd have thought that I'd have taken pleasure in that fact. Revelled in it even. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to do so. I still felt - no - I still _feel _something for him, despite everything he'd put me through and it truly confuses me that he has the same effect on me now as he did then.

He's a shadow of a man compared to the stunning youth he'd once been. Azkaban's not been kind to him. He's leaner and his tattooed body has lost some of its muscle tone; the grey eyes are somewhat faded and weary; his dark, lustrous hair is still long, yet greying and he now possesses a neatly trimmed beard. Oh, he's still handsome and continues to take my breath away, make my heart race and stir my loins, but it's now the haggard, ravaged beauty of age and experience which makes him all the more alluring.

To my great horror and dismay, I find that I still want him - desperately - and I hate myself for that as well ...

The only good thing now, is that I no longer fear him as I used to. Being a Deatheater, or one of the Dark Lord's most trusted - no, that's not true, _he_ trusts no one - "loyal" henchmen does that to a person. You lose all fear of men or you simply no longer care.

I don't _want_ to care for him, but I can't help it. Whenever I'm forced to attend those bloody Order meetings at his godsforsaken hole of a home, I try my damnedest to ignore him and flee from the place as quickly as I can, but he won't let me to do that. He keeps needling and harassing me; he wears me down until my defences shatter completely and I'm forced to retaliate with biting sarcasm and cruel taunts. I stupidly let him get to me and that's yet another reason why I hate myself ...

It's taken almost twenty years of fighting and animosity and only now am I able to admit that I'm hooked to my weakness. For he _is_ my weakness and always will be. Until I draw my last breath ... I'm too bloody tired to fight it any more. I tried to convince myself that I didn't care for him, that I didn't miss him while he was detained in Azkaban, but that wasn't true.

_Sweet Merlin !_ I can no longer lie to myself about this. It's futile and like any genuine addiction, it's slowly killing me ...

_Oh, bollocks ! Why am I _still_ so desperately in love with that stubborn, reckless, vexing, fleabitten Gryffindor mutt, Sirius-bloody-Black ? The powers-that-be are having a damn good laugh at my expense and Merlin, how they must _really_ hate me ... _

**Finis**


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